


And, departing, leave behind us

by lawsofchaos



Category: CSI: Miami, The Magnificent Seven (TV), The Sentinel
Genre: Everyone Gets a Hug!, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I pinky swear, Magnificent Seven AU: ATF, Not Really Character Death, Vin Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-03-31 00:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13963125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawsofchaos/pseuds/lawsofchaos
Summary: Vin screamed desperately as the backlash from the explosion hit his hiding place outside the warehouse. Everything was drowned out in the god awful roar emanating from the building where his entire team had been just moments before.





	1. And things are not what they seem

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to MOG for creating the ATF AU. Also, thank you to retirw for her help as beta and pookwana for a few of the plotbunnies herein. This was written MANY years ago and originally posted to fanfiction.net. I meant to just update the grammar and phrasing a little, however, I lost that battle at around chapter two. There are some fairly significant changes between the ff.net version and this one. 
> 
> This is a crossover with CSI: Miami and (very, very slightly) with the Sentinel. I hope it is not immediately obvious, although it very well may be, that I've only seen one episode of CSI in my life.
> 
> Apologies for any inaccuracies contained within, especially a few that may come up in the later chapters. Anything you recognize does not belong to me!
> 
> Also, Kudos make me happy, but comments make my day!

_Lives of great men all remind us_  
_We can make our lives sublime,_  
_And, departing, leave behind us_  
_Footprints on the sands of time;_

“Psalm of Life,” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

**Miami Dade Police Department**

**March 27th, 2003**

Silently, Vin ghosted into the darkened room and slipped behind his desk. He leaned down to rest his weary head on the smooth surface; the cool wood easing his over warm forehead. As he closed his eyes in the still room, Vin’s mind slowly wandered where he had forbidden it to go. The near constant surveillance of the suspect for the past month had weakened his carefully constructed barriers. Wearily, Vin remembered a black-dressed terror smirking after a successful bust, a large gentle man reminding him that there was still some good left in the world, a black man threatening to shoot his sorry ass if he didn’t let him clean those cuts. God, Vin thought, Nathan would be shoutin’ him up a right proper storm if he could see me now. Hearing the others on the team coming, Vin moaned silently as he slipped on a black jacket with the CSI symbol emblazoned on the back to hide the knife wound the suspect had given him.

Without Chris and the others, touch, even the doctor’s, was out of the question. He didn’t think his team had known just how important they were to him. He hadn’t known either. Now that he was alone, all the old defensive responses had come roaring back. Vin could count on one hand the number of times he’d spoken more than what was required since he’d come here, even though this new team found the silence vaguely disturbing. For the same reason, he still tried to hide his reactions as much as possible, but Vin couldn’t stop the slight flinch anytime somebody so much as brushed up against him. Thank God the team had finally stopped trying to hug him in greeting. 

A moment later, the fluorescent lights switched on, making Vin’s already pounding head ache as Horatio Caine, Calleigh Duquesne, and Eric Delko walked into the room. They’d taken the murder suspect into custody after a well-timed call from Vin had managed to pull them out of a budget meeting with the higher-ups. Vin managed to escape it because he was technically needed in the field. Although the others were Crime Scene Investigators, Vin had been put on the team two months ago to “help with the fieldwork.” According to Horatio’s superiors the order had come from high up. So high up, even they didn’t know who had sent it. 

Understandably, the group had been reluctant to accept Vin onto the team. Horatio, Calleigh, and Eric had been expecting a spoiled beach bum coasting on his father’s influence. They were surprised, to say the least, when the long-haired Texan had shown up in their lab wearing faded jeans, cowboy boots, a worn flannel shirt, and more armory than any of their suspects. 

The first time Horatio had seen Vin on the shooting range qualifying for his weapons, he’d realized that Tanner had obviously had one hell of a lot of training. And from some of his quirks, they’d obviously been put to use somewhere. For now, Horatio and his team had stopped trying to touch him in any way, but they still made a point to ask questions that couldn’t be answered with a simple yes or no. The quiet man intrigued them. No one had given up on him yet. 

Pulling up short at the sight of the sharpshooter already sitting at his desk, How the hell did he beat us here? I never even saw him leave. Horatio stopped for a moment; pain lines creased Vin’s forehead. He almost started forward to check on Tanner and see if it was a migraine, but backed off quickly as Vin’s body tensed the moment Horatio stepped closer. “Tanner.” His voice was soft in deference to the headache. “You did a good job with the surveillance.” 

Vin looked up, eyes carefully shielded, and nodded in thanks. 

\------------

'Shit! This damned cut won’ stop bleedin’. I’se gotta find me some place to bandage it.' 

Making his decision, Vin cleared his throat, startling the team who were all used to his absolute silence. His voice was raspy and hoarse from the hours in the sun. “Would y’all mind iffen I come back in ‘bout an hour to finish writin’ my report?” 

Horatio looked at him with calculating eyes and seemed to note something on Vin’s right arm. “Were you injured?”

“I’se fine.” 

Horatio’s eyes pinned him down. After a moment, Horatio relented and agreed. “One hour.” 

With a nod of thanks, Vin shut down his computer and slipped silently out of the room. 

When he was gone, Calleigh looked at Horatio questioningly. “What was that all about?”

“Our young friend wasn’t telling the truth a moment ago.” He walked over Vin’s desk and bent down to examine a dark spot of blood no one had noticed while Vin was sitting down. “He’s lying, and I want to know why.” 

\------

Exactly fifty-nine minutes later, Vin walked back into the office and turned on his computer, purposely ignoring the fact that his boss was leaning against a wall near his desk. 

“How’s your arm?”

Vin glanced at Horatio, his eyes showing nothing. 'Damn it,' he thought wryly. 'This is why I always hate workin’ with detectives.' 

The quiet sharpshooter turned to look at the man standing in front of him. As hard as he searched, he couldn’t find any alternative motives. 'They're never gonna be family, but I might as well not make ‘em think I hate ‘em.' “It’s fine. I stitched it up whilst I’se gone.” Instantly, Vin mentally cringed at his accidentally revealing that he had stitched up the wound himself. 

Horatio blinked in consternation. Why would Vin stitch up his own wounds rather than go to a doctor?

“Would you let one of us take a look at your work?” 'If he hasn’t done it correctly, maybe we can convince him to get Alexx to do it.' 

'Damn! Cain’t tell ‘em no, or they’ll just drag my ass off to a doctor. If I act like it ain’t no big deal, maybe they won’t say nothin’. Least the scars on my arms ain’t nearly so bad as the rest of ‘em. Vin slowly took off his black CSI jacket. The white bandages on his arm contrasted starkly with the black T-shirt revealed underneath the jacket. He took off the bandages and allowed his boss to look at the neat row of 13 stitches in his bicep, ignoring the way Calleigh and Erik had noticed what was happening and wondered over towards them. 

Horatio didn’t react when the bandage came off, but the other two froze, saddened. Vin’s arms were a tracery of thin, white scars from top to bottom. A heavy band of scar tissue circled both wrists. 

'Tortured,' Calleigh realized. 'No wonder he hates to be touched.' Looking at Vin, she didn’t say a word. All three of them recognized the expression he wore. He did not want them to so much as mention the scars. 

Calleigh tried to fill the awkward silence, her brows rising involuntarily. “Those stitches are incredible. I’ve seen doctors do worse.” 'This isn’t the first time he’s done this.' 

“The medic on my team taught me. Said if I was gonna go ‘n git my fool self cut up every damn month, than I was gonna have to learn how to fix my ownself.” 

Crystal blue eyes turned thoughtful. This was the first time he had ever heard Vin speak about his life before Miami. 

“What was his name?” He asked neutrally.

There was a moment of contemplative silence as Vin decided on how much he trusted this team, noting that they still hadn’t said anything about the scars. Finally he decided a little bit of information couldn’t hurt. "His name was Nathan.” The room was quiet as the others digested this new piece of Vin’s life, including his use of past tense. 

Vin bowed his head in grief. 'This is why I’se tryin’ not to remember them at work.' 

When Vin’s raspy voice pierced the quiet, the others weren’t surprised by the soft pronouncement. “I’m going to the shootin’ range.” And without another word, Vin walked out the door for the second time that day. 

Calleigh stared as the retreating back. “He only goes to the shooting range here when he’s angry. I believe his exact words were that our shooting range was a useless piece of junk more likely to send you the damn bullets back with a forensic analysis then actually be any use for shooting.” 

Eric looked at her with brows raised. “He said what?”

Calleigh shrugged. “Longest sentence I ever heard him say.”

Horatio just shook his head in amusement, trying to forget the sight of Vin’s scars. “We’ll get answers sooner or later. Right now, all of you have reports to work on.” 

\----------------------

**Down on the firing range**

The paper targets felt the brunt of Vin’s anger as he emptied clip after clip into the still paper forms. Other CSIs watched from the lanes on both his sides, startled at the speed and accuracy Vin was showing, but he didn’t even seem to know they were there. 

Thoughts and memories tumbled through Vin’s head, flying around and refusing to give him any peace. He could see each and every frame of that night as clearly as if it had happened yesterday, and to him, it might as well have happened last night.

'How the hell did Chris do it?' Vin wondered in anguish. 'How did he keep from shooting everybody after Sara and Adam’s death?' 

His team, his brothers were all dead. He wanted nothing more than for that paper target to be their killer. But unfortunately, even that had been stolen from him. Their killer had committed suicide when he realized that one of the seven was still alive. He’d thought they were all in the warehouse. And, honest to God, Vin wished he had been. At least then he wouldn’t have to live with all their deaths. But, God damn it! The movie wouldn’t stop! Every single frame of that night was crystal clear and close up in that frame by frame play. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. Whenever Vin dared to sleep, his dreams were filled with turbulent images and sounds. But above it all, the scent of scorched flesh always lingered.


	2. For the soul is dead that slumbers

Chapter Two

Two Months Ago

Denver, Colorado   
January 18th

 

“NO!” Vin screamed desperately as the backlash from the explosion hit his hiding place outside the warehouse. Everything was drowned out in the god awful roar emanating from the building where his entire team had been just moments before. Sliding down from the roof so fast he was in free-fall, Vin was out of the safety harness before he hit the ground. 

Throwing aside his rifle, he tore over to the building as flames shot out of the windows. ‘God, I can’t lose Chris! No!’ An inhuman cry erupted from his throat as hands grabbed at him, pulling him back from the deadly heat. 

Ryan Kelly, the leader of Team Eight, shouted for help as he and his men attempted to subdue Tanner. 

“Let go!” Vin shouted, “I have to get in there! Have to get ’em out!” Fists and elbows flew as Vin madly tried to escape their protection. 

Even with four more agents from Team Three joining in, they weren’t a match for Vin’s desperate struggle. “Someone has to knock him out!” The leader of Team 3 cried breathlessly. Finally, a full four minutes later, Kelly landed a swift right hook to Vin’s jaw and he was laid out flat. Panting, the men tried to regain their breath as they stared in unmasked pity at Vin. His whole team had been right in the heart of that explosion. Not even the Magnificent Seven could have survived that. 

“I’ll stay with him,” Kelly said softly. “When he wakes up, he isn’t going to want an audience.” 

The others nodded quietly. “We’ll go help secure the area.”

The leader of Team Three lingered behind for a moment. “God, Kelly. Look at him; he can’t be more than twenty five years old…”

The silence was deafening and neither leader moved for a long time. 

 

—————————

 

Smoke and burned flesh. The smell permeated his mind and almost made him gag, but Vin couldn’t figure out why he smelled it, he wasn’t…there anymore… Oh God, the explosion! “Chris!” He screamed, rolling to his feet. Unfortunately, his stomach protested and he gasped and heaved, waiting for the shaking to stop before trying that again. His anguished eyes found the remnants of the building where the bust had gone down, smoke still curling up from the mounds of ashes. Nothing was left. 

“Oh God…” The absolute agony in Vin’s voice shook Kelly. There was no hope, no life, just an unbearable emptiness, completely at odds with the sharpshooter’s usual attitude. Gently, Kelly laid a hand on Vin’s shoulder in a meager attempt at comfort. His heart broke for Vin when the man violently flinched away, unspeaking. 

“Is there someone I can call for you?” It was a meaningless gesture and Kelly knew it. The other half of Vin’s soul had died in that fire. Kelly had never truly understood what dead man walking had meant until now.

Vin didn’t take his eyes off the space where the building had once stood, just slid to the ground, sitting Indian style in the rubble, unblinking and unmoving. “Just leave me alone,” Vin’s hoarse whisper almost went unheard. Bowing his head in grief, Kelly moved back to his men. The ATF had lost seven good agents today, not just the six men that had died in the explosion. 

—————————

 

Denver Morgue  
January 20th, 2003

 

The lean sharpshooter stood stiffly at parade rest in front of the technician as he identified the charred guns and badges on the table. Vin knew he looked terrifying from the way everybody was staring at him, yet, for some reason, he didn’t care. Long ago, even before his time in black ops, he’d taught himself how to numb his body from pain, both physical and emotional, but he’d never had to distance himself this much to block anything out. Meticulously, Vin formed iron-clad barriers around his emotions. Emotions were weak. Emotions left you vulnerable, and right now, emotions were something to avoid at all costs. He had to leave. Had to go somewhere where nothing would remind him of his fallen brothers… He would never be able to forget or find another family like the one he had just lost, but he had to leave. Chris and the others had kept him from running, but now that they were gone, there was nothing left.

Once he made the decision, the act itself was easier than he remembered. Fingers flew over his cell pone, dialing a sequence memorized years ago. 

“Falcon.” The voice was the same as he remembered; the captain didn’t even seem surprised that he’d called this particular number after all this time. Vin snorted coldly in his head, the captain always knew everything.

“Capt’n.” No greetings were necessary. This number wasn’t for pleasantries. 

Knowing the purpose of this call, the captain spoke, “Any particular requests?”

‘That’s one thing I’se always liked ‘bout the captain,’ Vin thought. ‘He’s straight forward, no false condolences ‘bout men he never knew.’ Vin was perfectly aware the captain cared about him and would do everything he could for him, but he knew that right now, Vin didn’t want to be comforted. That was for later, when he could afford to let down his guard. Shaking off the thoughts, Vin spoke to the captain. “I’d like to keep my own name. Just don’t want to be found by anyone here. Don’t rightly care where you put me, but I don’t want any reminders of my team.” 

“It’ll be ready in three hours. You know what to do.” Sadly enough, he did. Every one in Black Ops had disappeared enough times to know the drill. 

Vin absentmindedly hung up his cell phone as the shrill dial tone permeated his thoughts. It was easier than he’d thought it would be to leave everything behind. In three hours, he’d be at the airport boarding a plane to his new life. He wondered where the captain would send him. 

———————

Miami Dade Police Station  
April 13th, 2003 

 

Quietly finishing up a report on a recent arrest, Horatio was surprised by a knock on the entrance of the office area. He, Calleigh, and Eric looked up at the interruption. Standing in the door, a man dressed in fatigue pants and a black T-shirt stood resting against the doorframe. Easily six feet tall, the man had cold, ice-blue eyes, and the lack of identification, dog tags or other wise, screamed black ops. 

“I’m looking for Vin Tanner.” His voice was soft and carefully emotionless. 

Immediately, Horatio’s hackles went up. This couldn’t be good. “What do you want with him?”

The frigid eyes slowly turned to rest on him as Horatio noticed what made the eyes so intense. It wasn’t how the eyes blocked any emotion, but there actually wasn’t any emotion. Horatio refused to back down though even as the man stared at him. ‘There’s no way in hell I’m telling him where Vin is. That boy doesn’t need the military screwing around with him on top of whatever happened before we met him.’ 

“What I want with Tanner is none of your concern, Lieutenant Caine.” 

Before Horatio could reply, the door of the outer office opened and Vin stepped through. Suddenly, his eyes widened as he caught sight of the imposing visitor. 

“Capt’n Ellison?” The team stared in astonishment as Vin smiled at the intruder. Tanner didn’t smile. He just…didn’t. 

“You look like shit, Tanner.”

“Coming from you that might even be a compliment.” Vin didn’t take any offense at the unusual greeting and walked over to join the group. 

The Captain studied him with a narrowed eye. “Runt, how much do you weigh now?” 

Tanner ducked his head and mumbled something that Horatio couldn’t quite make out. But apparently, the Captain could. 

“Damn it, Tanner! You’re over twenty pounds underweight.” 

‘Twenty pounds! Shit, I knew he was skinny, but not that skinny.’

Ellison took a small bar out of his pocket and handed it to Vin. “Eat.”

Vin looked at the paper-wrapped bar in disgust. “What in hell is this?”

An eyebrow quirked in response. “It’s exactly what you think it is - Doc’s special cardboard-flavored calorie brick. He made you up a special batch when I called since we figured you weren’t eating enough to keep up with the amount of energy you burn.” 

Vin snorted and scowled. “I ain’t eating that crap. I already told you, I’m fine!”

The captain didn’t glare, but his gaze remained icily focused on the man in front of him as the seconds ticked by, his expression unchanging. Tanner didn’t seem affected by it in the least. 

“Said I ain’t eating this crap,” he finally repeated. 

“Falcon,” the voice was deadly quiet. “You will eat that and you will be eating several more of them in the near future if you’d care to remain on active duty for very much longer.”

Vin scowled, but the captain was uncompromising. Locking eyes with Ellison, he took a vicious bite out of the corner of the bar and threw the crumpled paper wrapper over his shoulder and into the trash. 

“Happy?” he asked sarcastically.

“Actually, yes. Have you looked at yourself lately, Slick?” The voice was gentle, surprising the team and clearly relazing the tense man in front of him. “Come on, I don’t think your lieutenant would mind me taking you to an early lunch.” 

Horatio cut in. “You’re right, I wouldn’t. Go to lunch, Tanner. I don’t want to see your face for at least two hours.”

Horatio thoughtfully watched them go, noting how Ellison carefully refrained from touching Vin, not coming anywhere near his personal space. ‘He knows what it’s like,’ Horatio thought as realization of what must have happened to Tanner before he came here flooded him. ‘He lost his team. That’s why he said his name was Nathan. They’re dead.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Tanner’s a good man, but I still pity the fool that killed his friends.’

——————————

Denver, Colorado  
Federal Building

 

The door to the offices of ATF Team Seven crashed open and a very much alive Chris Larabee strode into the room. The desks had been moved into a giant circle, and coffee cups and computer printouts littered all the available surfaces. JD’s desk was covered in computer equipment specialized for hacking. Between Chris and Buck, it seemed that half of the armed forces were on the lookout for Vin. Markers had been called in and feelers had been put out, yet there was still no information. 

JD looked up at Chris. “There’s no way Vin did this. It’s like he doesn’t even exist anymore! Whoever’s hiding Vin is good; their firewalls are absolutely impenetrable. They’re harder to crack than the Pentagon!” He paused, blinking. “Uh, not that I would know anything about that.” 

Managing to crack a smile at JD’s hurried cover-up, Josiah’s voice rumbled, “God will lead us to him, brothers. He’s not cruel enough to let Vin continue believing we’re dead.”

Scowls deepened at the reminded of the hell Vin was living in. They’d known from the scars and blacked-out background and some off-handed remarks that Vin had been involved in the type of military operations that were less classified and more completely off-record, but they hadn’t known just how deeps his contacts had clearly gone. 

As fate would have it, only moments before the explosion, the leader of a rival drug cartel had managed to knock out the radio communications system the ATF had been using to keep the teams inside and outside the warehouse in contact. The man had managed to get the upper hand momentarily and had smuggled the six team members out of the warehouse at gunpoint in an attempt to drug them into telling him what the ATF knew about his business.

The massive explosion only moments later, however, had very much not been a part of anyone’s plan. In the uncertainty and tightened security of the aftermath, the cartel had managed to keep the ATF team secure and capitalize on the confusion of the unexpected bomb to ensure the ATF thought the six men dead. Their unplanned success had buoyed the cartel’s spirits, but it also loosened their security when they realized no one was coming after their captives. Chris had glanced around at his men- all they had to do was wait for the opportune moment.

Four days later, the opportune moment arrived and ATF Team Seven (minus one) swept into the downtown federal building to an absolute cacophony of startled disbelief. Paying no mind to any one, they made their way unerringly to the office of their boss, seeking their missing member. 

Travis had been speaking to the ATF Director over the phone when his secretary’s startled shout interrupted their conversation. There was a commanding exclamation, a voice (both painfully familiar and painfully impossible) demanding entrance to Travis’s office, but it was only when a second voice, a voice thick with a unmistakable Southern drawl, interceded that Travis hung up without even an attempt at apology. 

He strode forward and swung open the heavy wooden door without pausing, eyes widening in disbelief and shock at the six men clustered in the open space in front of him, dusty and bruised, but so very alive it was momentarily hard to breathe. 

Green eyes narrowed in his direction at his appearance though, each following word dropping into the sudden silence like heavy stones in a placid lake, an almost physical weight to each one. “Where is he?”

The silence was deafening as it stretched, Orrin staring mutely at Chris.

Two days ago, Orrin had stood in a similarly heavy silence as Vin wordlessly confirmed the charred remains of weapons and vests in front of him had belonged to his team. Two days ago, Vin had walked out of that morgue and made a call. Two days ago, Orrin had received immediate transfer orders for Agent Tanner to an undisclosed, classified location. Two days ago, Vin Tanner had disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little more heavily edited than the last one (as compared to the original writing from ten years ago). Although it was betaed in it's original form, this chapter has not been looked over and all mistakes belong to me. 
> 
> I think Ryan Kelly and ATF Team 8 may be the invention of another writer (I can't remember if he's canon or not), and I apologize for not knowing who to acknowledge if that is indeed the case.
> 
> Kudos make me smile, but comments make my day!


	3. Still, like muffled drums, are beating

**Miami Dade Police Station**  
**May 1st, 11:14 am**

 

Justin Casey, the junior member of Denver’s ATF Team 8, dove back through the doorway of the shooting range and into the hall, willing his heart to stop pounding from surprise. ‘Holy shit, that was Vin Tanner!’ A group of officers passed by and Justin smiled nervously as they glanced at him on their way into the range, trying to act nonchalant as he debated what he should do with the information he had just discovered. 

Justin had been sent to the forensics conference here in Miami in his boss’s place, the perks of seniority Kelly had grinned at him when he’d passed over the tickets last month. Casey had been pleased though, even if the conference was sure to be mind-numbing. His brother worked as an officer for Miami-Dade and, sure enough, when he’d checked the tickets back at his desk he’d seen the flight back had been extended over the weekend after the conference. 

Today was Saturday, but his brother had been pulled back to the office for a short meeting and had dragged Justin with him to give him a tour. The ATF agent had been wondering around alone for about an hour while Jason was otherwise occupied and had followed the flow of traffic to the range- always the busiest place in a police station other than the coffee maker in the break-room. Walking in to get a feel for the place though, Justin had seen one of the last things he’d ever expected. Vin Tanner standing calmly in a lane, guns lined up along a table at his side and a shredded target hanging in front of him.

The ‘Magnificent Seven’ and Team 8 had always been fairly close- Kelly’s team was Agent Larabee’s first choice for back-up and the same was true in reverse. Casey’s first bust under Kelly had been with both Vin and their own team’s sharpshooter in the rafters and Justin had certainly felt better for it. The explosion that January had rocked Denver’s ATF office like an earthquake, and, like an earthquake, the aftershocks had just kept coming.

Everyone on Team 7 had been declared dead in the fire except the sharpshooter who’d been stationed the next building over. Justin’s dreams still echoed with the sound of that wordless scream as Vin had come leaping off the building, uncaring of the growing fire as he’d ran for his team. He could still hear Vin’s struggles as Kelly and the surrounding agents had fought to hold him back from the flames and he knew that his boss still had nightmares about those desperate pleas. 

And then came the watch. Those awful hours stretching over into days when they’d waited outside the building for the flames to die and the rubble to cool. The silence and the grey, pre-dawn stillness broken only by ashes softly floating and settling around them. Vin sitting motionless as close to the building as the fire department would allow, unblinking as he kept watch over his fallen brothers until their bodies could be found.

Justin had taken his turn in the small group of agents standing watch over both the scene and, both more subtly and more importantly, Vin himself. The discretion had turned out to be unneeded though as Vin had proved numb to anything but the site of the destruction in front of him, smoke rising even then to gently curl in the placid air.

When the recovery team was finally allowed to proceed, most of the Denver ATF office and a large contingent of the local LEOs had arrived to pay tribute to the men who had lost their lives in saving others. The mixed group stood at various levels of solemn attention as six blanket covered stretchers were removed from the rubble, their eyes moving frequently to the statue of a man at their front. 

The fire had burned hot, the fire department only guessing as to the chemicals that must have present for it to reach the temperature it had, and so the blankets on the stretchers were strangely flat. Casey had heard Chief Nelson warning Kelly that there would be very little left to recover. Guns. The metal shields from their badges. Bone fragments.

Justin had nearly been sick.

It was only after the last stretcher had been loaded that Director Travis finally approached the young sharpshooter, but even Justin could see that Vin was shutting down. He’d shortly lost track of the pair as Travis had guided Vin into a vehicle to go to the morgue. As weapons specialist for Team 7, it would be his final job to identify their service pieces and confirm the identity of the remains that were far too badly damaged for autopsy. 

And then, in the first aftershock from the explosion, Vin Tanner had disappeared that very same day. Sure, it was supposedly a simple, albeit classified ‘transfer’, but it didn’t take much knowledge to read those tea leaves. Vin was never coming back and he most certainly didn’t want to be found. 

And so, junior agent Justin Casey now found himself standing outside an officer’s gun range in Florida, hiding from a man he knew would disappear the moment he saw him, and he had absolutely no idea what to do. 

Justin had no illusions that he was anywhere near good enough to catch up to Vin long enough to tell him about that day, only two days after he’d left, when Team Seven had pulled off a miracle. When they’d swept into the building, security agape behind them and dirt and ash still streaked across their faces, to march into Travis’s office to demand their brother’s location. 

Justin had no clue how Travis had broken the news, but he knew that the past months for Team 7 had been brutal. The “classified transfer” was valid in the system, but even Dunne’s best efforts couldn’t get the system to cough up a location or the name of the person who’d ordered the transfer. He also had the feeling that it would be far better for his own mental health if he didn’t have the specifics on what the other five members of the team’s best efforts consisted of to track down their missing agent. 

But apparently, Justin considered somewhat frantically, it was sheer, dumb luck that would win the day.

Seeing his brother approaching the shooting range, Justin flagged him down. He was here visiting, not on official business, so he wasn’t wearing ATF insignia, thank God. If Vin had noticed it out of the corner of his eye, there was no way he wouldn’t have turned around to check.

Officer Jason Casey frowned at his brother as he approached where Justin was pressed up against the wall. “You okay, bro? You do know you can go in if you want, right?”

Justin nodded, trying to smile, but likely failing given the look that Jason was sending him. Justin sighed and gave up trying to act nonchalant as he quite obviously hid from the view of the people inside. 

His expression turned serious and he turned to his brother. “Do you know who that is?” He pointed through the doorway of the range at Tanner, his motions surreptitious in an attempt to remain unnoticed. 

Jason glanced in the direction Justin had indicated and turned his suddenly shrewd gaze on his younger brother, picking up that this wasn’t just an innocent question. “Vin Tanner. He transferred here about four months ago to Lt. Horatio’s team. It’s kind of odd - he’s not a CSI, but he specializes in the fieldwork side, surveillance and such. No one is certain why he was placed here, but it’s pretty clear that it was something big. He hardly talks at all and he avoids touch like the plague. That and, well,” Jason tipped his head wryly to indicate the expert-level shooting being displayed, “I can’t begin to tell you all of the speculation about what he was before he came to Miami.”

Justin’s voice was soft and reflective, his focus inward as he contemplated his brother’s words. “He’s a sharpshooter with the ATF.”

Jason’s gaze narrowed. “You know him?”

“Yeah.” Justin answered his brother, eyes never leaving Vin’s back. 

There was a pause and Justin’s eyes widened as he turned his full attention back to his brother, thinking through his next steps. “You can’t tell him I was here!”

“Justin,” his brother started, but Casey cut him off.

“No. I know you realize something is wrong here, but you can’t tell him right now. Vin thinks his entire team is dead. The warehouse they were in blew up and was burned to the ground, but nobody knew they weren’t in it. Vin disappeared as soon as he identified their badges and weapons, and nobody’s been able to find him since.”

Justin kept his voice quiet, but it didn’t lose any intensity as he continued. “All the files are so encrypted that even Dunne can’t find him. But, Jason, if I go in there right now, he will run before I can get a word out and we will never find him again. I need to figure out how to handle this first.”

“Justin, calm down. I won’t tell him. My God, I can’t even imagine what losing your whole team must be like.”

“They weren’t just his team, Jason. They were his brothers.” 

———————

 **Denver Federal Building**  
**May 1st, 11:30am**

 

ATF Supervisory Agent Ryan Kelly ignored the buzzing of the phone in his pocket as he continued briefing his team about the bust they would be supplying back-up for later that afternoon. 

He was facing the round table they’d placed in the conference room, the other five members of the team switching between taking notes on their tablets and paying attention to the powerpoint he was using to display the layout of the section of building they’d be responsible for clearing. His phone finally stopped vibrating as he continued.

“Chief Nelson and his team will be on hand in case we need to make alternate entrances to some of the rooms on this level,” he began, ignoring the grin of his demolitions expert at his use of the phrase ‘alternate entrance.’ 

“Does this mean I might get to blow some shit up today?” Agent Holliday asked with a bright laugh, the other agents stifling their amusement at his enthusiasm. 

His phone started buzzing again. “Calm down, Holliday. It’s not considered a likely outcome, and even if we do have to get ourselves around an obstruction, we’ve been requested to use explosive entrance as our method of last resort.” Kelly paused. “Sadly.”

His team laughed and he waited for them to settle before he flipped to the next slide, his phone quieting down again.

“The building plans indicate that this level has several secured doors,” he pointed, “here, here, and here. Because of this, our best thought at the moment is that these are the rooms they’re using to secure,” he broke off mid-sentence as his phone started vibrating again.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized to his agents, looking down as he took his phone out of his pocket, “This is the third time somebody has called me during the briefing. I’m not sure who it is, but let me just check that it’s not an emergency.” The phone stopped buzzing.

Kelly entered his passcode and looked at his screen, frowning suddenly as he saw the name. “It’s Casey.”

His team’s attention was suddenly laser-focused on him again. 

“Isn’t Casey supposed to be on vacation with his brother?” Holliday asked, although it wasn’t really a question. Casey had been positively jittery with excitement the day he flew out last week. 

“Yes,” Kelly confirmed grimly anyway. He tossed his phone to John Burley, his team’s technical expert, the mirthful atmosphere of the briefing suddenly gone. “Connect to the speaker and call him back.” Maybe it was overkill, but after everything that had happened in January, Kelly (and all the other team leads) were a little paranoid about keeping track of their team members (and the feeling was mutual). 

It was the work of seconds for Burley to disconnect the laptop he’d been controlling the presentation with from the station at the center of the table and connect the phone to the central speaker. He didn’t have to call Casey back though as Kelly’s phone immediately started ringing again. He answered it without waiting for permission.

“Kelly!” Agent Justin Casey’s voice came over the speaker the moment the line was connected, not quite breathless, but colored by an odd note of emotion. 

“Casey, are you okay?” Kelly asked quickly. “You’re supposed to be on vacation with your brother right now.”

“I’m fine and I am,” Casey was speaking quick, even faster than usual, “That’s not why I’m calling. I mean, I am calling because of something that happened on vacation, but not related to the vacation itself.” Justin broke off, groaning, “I’m sorry- I’m messing this up.”

The team exchanged glances. They hadn’t heard their junior agent this tongue-tied since his first week on the job two years ago. 

Kelly interrupted. “You’re on speaker in the conference room with the team. Just tell us what happened.”

The calm tones of his boss clearly helped Casey cut through some of the mild panic. They heard him take a deep breath.

“I found Vin.”

Whatever they’d been expecting him to say, that was not it. Holliday’s pen dropped to the floor with a quiet plink.

Kelly opened his mouth to speak, but Burley beat him to it. “You found Vin?”

Casey was quieter now, the initial adrenaline of making this call fading somewhat. “I did,” he confirmed. 

He continued without prompting. “I’m still in Miami with my brother, but he got called into his station for a meeting this morning with a few other detectives. Since I have a federal ID, I wouldn’t need an escort while he was in the meeting and he decided to bring me with him so I could see where he works. I was just wondering around and I ended up finding the range. Vin was there.”

Kelly’s eyes widened. “Did he see you?” 

“No. I mean, I knew I couldn’t just up and tell him out of nowhere that the others are alive, and if I spooked him, he’d run like he did after the explosion.”

Kelly stared at the speaker phone where his youngest agent’s voice was coming from, almost numb. The conference room was quiet as his team absorbed this news and he was sure more than a one of his agents felt the phantom heat from that blistering fire against their skin at the sudden reminder. After everything Team 7 was doing to find their agent, Casey running into him on vacation felt almost unreal. They’d found him.

Kelly breathed for a moment to get rid of the lingering feel of smoke at the back of his throat before he spoke.

“You did good, Justin. Stay there for now and let your brother know to keep quiet.” He paused. “Although, you might want to warn him Team 7 will be coming in hot to get their agent back. Soon.” Kelly breathed deeply, still feeling off-kilter at how suddenly this had been handed to them. “I need to go tell Chris and the others, but I would imagine they’ll find a way to there by tonight at the latest.”

He nodded at Burley to cut the connection, but Casey’s voice stopped him momentarily.

“Ryan, wait!” The use of his first name told Kelly this was something important. “Kelly, he’s in bad shape.” Justin paused as if debating how much to tell them. Finally, he said quietly, “I only saw him for a moment, but I’ve never seen him look like . . . that.” 

Kelly absorbed that for a moment. “I’ll tell Chris.”

The phone line was disconnected, but Kelly sat with his agents in silence for a long moment, just breathing, before he finally stood up to go find Team Seven.

 

——

 

 **Airplane Somewhere Between Denver and Miami**  
**May 1st, 3:51 pm**

 

Katie looked at the six men in her area and tilted her head in consideration before continuing up the aisle with the beverage cart. She had been a flight attendant for six years now and between the circus group that had been determined to practice their act in the aisle (who knew you could use the headrests like parallel bars?) and the lady that went into labor with twins 30,000 feet over the Pacific, she thought she’d seen just about everything. 

(The lady in labor had sworn up, down, and sideways that she was fine and could wait to land to push, but, spoiler alert, she could not. Katie had been impressed with the lady’s breadth of knowledge regarding the conjugation of several very unusual profanities. The minister two rows behind her, however, had not been.)

There was something about these six men though that set her internal alarm bells ringing. In particular, the first man to her right. His short-cropped blonde hair stood in sharp contrast to the deep black of his clothing and his gaze was sharp as he watched her move towards him.

“Would you like anything to drink, sir?” She asked, trying to figure out why these men were standing out to her. 

It wasn’t that she felt they were going to do anything bad necessarily - she had an _excellent_ radar for that type of thing. (Katie had been notorious among her friends in college for always knowing exactly which guys at a bar would try anything unsavory if you caught their eye. She was also notorious for her very precise left hook.)

He barely glanced at her though, focusing inwardly on something else instead. “No.”

Katie turned to the next person, unfazed at the response, although still considering the group as a whole.

The man with a mustache in the window seat didn’t even bother to look at her when she asked him, and his answer was as short and concise as the one before. “No.”

The next pair of seats contained two of the largest men she’d ever seen. The black man in the window seat was methodically sorting through the contents of a small, but densely packed, medic’s bag, using the tray table (covered with a cloth of some kind) to lay-out and categorize the different items. 

The speed and surety with with every piece was handled reminded her of her grandfather cleaning his gun. He’d been a Marine for 12 years and a police officer for 22, and every Sunday night he would lay a handkerchief on the kitchen table with a soft rag and a bottle of gun oil beside it. He would strip, inspect, clean, and put his gun back together before securing it in the safe he used when he wasn’t wearing it in his holster. The routine had been so firmly ingrained and deftly performed that Katie knew he could do it without thinking about it or even looking at it, although her grandfather had certainly never once let his attention waver. Katie was sure this man’s routine was just as firmly ingrained in his muscles as continued his task, neither pausing nor looking away as he refused a drink.

The man in the aisle was even larger, although his hands were occupied by a rosary instead of a medic’s bag. He shook his head in a wordless no, lips never pausing as he continued through the beads.

The last pair was a younger looking man, typing furiously on a laptop, and another man dressed in what Katie knew was a hand-tailored and extraordinarily expensive designer suit. The man in the suit was watching the screen over the other man’s shoulder and occasionally pointed something out as he typed, although Katie couldn’t distinguish the words in the low murmur of his voice. 

She was unsurprised at their refusals. 

Continuing up the aisle past her mysterious six, Katie smiled widely at a family clearly headed to Disney for vacation. The little girl was so excited she already had on her mouse ears and was talking a mile a minute at her dad in the aisle seat about how excited she was to meet Snow White. The father smiled back and shared a conspiratorial wink with Katie when the little girl outlined her plan to warn the princess that apples tasted bad so she wouldn’t eat the poisoned apple. 

Pouring out a cup of juice for the little girl (pointedly not apple juice), Katie kept thinking about the six men behind her. It was only when she thought about the comparison she’d made to her grandfather that it hit her. Anticipation. 

Her grandfather had often taken her into the police station when she was a kid, and she’d loved running around the bullpen and meeting all the detectives. She’d been there once right before a major raid, watching everyone get prepared and double check the last details, tugging on vests and holsters as they’d left in focused groups of three or four. There’d been a palpable feeling of anticipation in the air, not excitement precisely - they weren’t exactly going to a party after all. But, they were headed to something they’d been planning and preparing for and they were ready for it to start. Focused. Anticipatory. 

Katie took one last glance behind as her as she placed a bag of pretzels on an outstretched hand.

She didn’t know what was going down in Miami when they landed, but she knew those six were going to be a part of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So I meant to just edit this a little bit chapter-by-chapter as I uploaded from ff.net. However, this has definitely gotten away from me and I think I added about 2000 words to this update alone. Yikes.
> 
> I'm sort of falling in love with outside perspectives, hence the wildly expanded sections for Team 8 and for Katie the flight attendant. Since my "slight editing" is definitely no longer working out, please let me know if you have suggestions for more outside POV (including Team 8) sections. If the plot bunny is sufficiently contagious, you may just end up reading your suggestion in the next chapter! Credit will be given if picked :) 
> 
> Kudos make me happy, but comments make my day!


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